


Live & Let Die

by MaccasWeirdFriend



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Car Accidents, Gen, Grief, I Just Ship Things And Kill Things, I Swear I'm A Good Christian, Lovely Rita Appearance, Mourning, PID, Paul is dead - Freeform, Recording, Sgt Pepper, Why Am I Obsessed With Car Accidents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 14:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11254509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaccasWeirdFriend/pseuds/MaccasWeirdFriend
Summary: John Lennon is usually the late guy. It's in his genes.But to have Paul McCartney of all people show him up in his field of expertise, that just can't happen.





	1. Please Don't Be Long

I was peeved.

And that was to put it simply.

George, Ringo and I had been waiting in the recording studio for over an hour and Paul McCharmly still hadn't been bothered with showing up yet.

Ringo was fiddling around with the hi-hats, sitting behind his drum set and humming a little tune that was bound to get stuck in my head later. George was tapping his pen rapidly in concentration as he looked down at a notebook he had laid out in front of him on a table. And every single moment of waiting was pure torture.

Did Paul seriously think that whatever he was doing was more important than recording the songs we had prepared? We couldn't do a thing without him because he had to play or sing something on every song we had planned!

Paul better have a very good reason for being this late.

"If he doesn't show up in ten minutes, I'll have Mal go and see what's going on," Brian said quickly.

He looked at the wall clock again in a fidgety sort of way, then walked over to George Martin to talk business. It wasn't like that was going to make the git come any faster.

"No. If he doesn't show up in five minutes, I'll go out and personally drag him in," I snapped, mercilessly strumming away at my guitar.

Brian gave me a scornful look but I knew he wasn't too serious about it. It was in the way his eyes weren't angry like the rest of him.

I stuck my tongue out, playing even louder than before.

Ringo looked up and took a ciggy out of his mouth. Why hadn't I thought of getting one? Maybe I wouldn't be as tense as I am now . . .

"Calm down, Johnny Boy. He's probably stuck in traffic. You know he was out with Jane earlier," Ringo reasoned.

He took another drag and shrugged his shoulders. How could he be so calm? I feel like ripping something apart. Or acting like Keith Moon and blowing up a drum set. Not to name who's, but I think I have a good one in mind.

"But he's taking forever. Even Jane would know this is too long. Maybe John should go," George muttered as he stared at the notebook he had out. "Paul would listen."

George started to write something down, though after a minute whatever he wrote down didn't look good enough. He started scribbling it out furiously with a scowl, along with saying words Georgie isn't allowed to say.

"See, two against one. What do you say Eppy?" I asked with feigned politeness.

Brian stopped talking to Martin and gave it barely a seconds thought before shaking his head. Was I really that predictable or was he that set on what he planned out? Most likely the last one.

"John, you'll only go and make a big argument out of it," Brian said simply and turned back to George Martin.

I didn't hear the whole conversation but apparently, doing a whole lot of nothing in a long period of time wasn't good.

"I would not!" I whined in a childish voice and batted my eyelashes.

I hope Paul's pouty look training had worked its magic. It cost me a bit of self-respect from my only son.

"John, I said no."

Great, the look didn't work. At least Paul owes me money now.

"But I can do it! I won't do anything! Promise!"

George snorted at my comment and I shot him an irritated look. He merely shrugged it off, going back to writing and crumpling up a piece of paper he tore out of the notebook.

Brian and George Martin were still talking about the schedule of all the studios, which wasn't nearly exciting enough to listen in on. George and Ringo were still in their own world so it seemed fitting enough that I should go and find the little bugger.

It was probably after 10 minutes anyways, someone had to track down the rogue Beatle.

I stood up slowly from my stool and it luckily didn't creak from the missing weight. I looked around one more time with a sense of freedom and simply walked out. It felt good not to be noticed at that time; it was certainly going to get something done. But it held a bit of a bittersweet feeling that went on in the back of my head.

I slowly closed the studio door behind me, looking at the surprisingly quiet hallway. Everything really was going my way.

"Hi, Freda," I whispered as I slipped past her in the hall.

She gave me the same peppy hi she usually does, in her own polite way. After a few more steps she ran back over to me, stopping me from opening the door.

"Where are you going, John?" she asked with a raised brow.

Wow, she could really act like Eppy sometimes.

"Out," I answered simply, giving her the well-known Beatles bow we do after every set onstage.

She sighed, shaking her head with a little smile coming onto her face.

"But where are you going to out there?" she cleared up.

"Okay, don't tell anyone . . . I'm going off to Paul's house to see what's keeping him from coming."

Her face dropped and a slightly irritated look came up right after it.

"This is all you wanted to tell me? Is that really it?"

I nodded and gave her a caring pat on the back.

"Yup. You're now sworn to secrecy, that's the end of it. See you in a bit," I told her with a smile, simply walking out of the studio.

At about 19:00, I was happy there were no fans. It's a right miracle if you think about it from our perspective. This was possibly the highlight of the day because if they'd been here, the guys would have found me in seconds.

Honestly, my secret mission no longer depended on how loud the fans were, but how careful Freda is with my secret.

Being cautious in case those crazy birds were hiding, I kept my head down and pulled out my thick glasses. It was mostly because I couldn't see all that great but not many fans know I have these even with a few pictures being taken, its fool proof. It would be like being a totally different person, only with a slight change. I put them on, still acting cautious as I got into my car.

My Ferrari revved as I drove aimlessly in a search for Paul. He didn't call so I had no idea where he was. Hopefully I'd just get lucky and find him soon enough.

I sped down the road and looked around for a familiar face. All I got were teenagers trying to chase after me. Most were yelling to get a bit of my hair. Others were asking for autographs or marriage. Just what I needed . . .

Some more random, reckless driving later to get rid of the birds, I tried the route Paul usually uses when he's coming from the Asher's house. He showed me it a few times so we could write songs at that place and I just hoped I didn't forget. Then I could rub it in his face that at least one of us can remember something that's important.

At one point, I got bored of driving around. It's probably because the road is a very boring place with people who liked to honk their horns. Maybe they knew who I was or something like that, but it was a bother.

Nevertheless, I turned on the radio and hoped for something good. Lucky for me, I got exactly what I wanted.

It was the Beach Boys' single "God Only Knows". Ever since Paul heard the song, he went positively mad over it. He would hum along to it or pick up his bass and play along. It was like we were back in the Quarry Men all over again. And every time I was around him when the song came on, he'd pull me over and make me sing with him.

This time, I hummed along with it, slowly letting the song just go over me. This probably isn't the best thing to do while having to focus on the road, but this is a song that just needs attention.

So I bobbed along to the steady beat and looked at the road again. This time there was something different. Not the good type of different either.

In a quick decision, I pulled my car over, walking to the scene that caught my eye. A car was rammed right into a light pole with steam coming out of the hood in thick clouds and glass all over the ground. If I hadn't known better, I would've thought someone had come by and sculpted it all with one large mound of material.

Then it hit me. The conclusion hit me like a ton of bricks. Or having our fans yell at us, but into a microphone. The license plate was one that I knew. The Mini also was strikingly familiar.

And so was the person in it.

I scrambled closer to the driver's seat, trying to pry open the door that was all messed up in the wreck. It literally looked like a squashed tin can. And it wouldn't budge.

Throwing caution to the wind, I kicked the window with all my might. It broke into little shards, but it didn't do any good because a good portion of it ended up hitting Paul or scraping my leg.

I leaned in and slowly pulled him out through the jagged window. He was limp with unconsciousness so the task was both easier and harder that way. For what felt like a half hour, I continued to pull him out, making little progress each tug.

Maybe another long stretch of minutes later, I finally got him out of the car. Quickly, fear started to set in. I moved us both to the curb, just collapsing from . . . everything.

He had a gash on the side of his head, though it was obvious that it wasn't from the broken window I just pulled him out of. There were cuts and bruises all over him and I couldn't help but feel that it was my fault. Along with that, his newly fixed tooth was chipped all over again, giving me a handful of jokes to say when he woke up.

If he woke up . . .

God, I forgot to think about that. I started to lightly slap his cheek and get him awake.

"Paul, wake up. C'mon, Paul. Now is not the time for beauty sleep," I murmured.

It did no good.

So I resorted to shaking his limp body around, in hopes that he woke up.

"Seriously, Macca. You're not talking. What happened? What's wrong?" I continued to ask him. He didn't answer, merely lolling his head to the side. And it frightened me.

I continued to babble words at him, even if he couldn't hear me at the time or never would.

"Macca, please, don't leave me. You can't be like my mum, dad and Stu. You have to stay with me!

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean all those nasty things I said, or thought really badly. I take them all back, every single one of them. But you have to open your eyes.

"Macca, you're my best friend. You know that, right? Well, best friends wouldn't do this! Now wake up, for Christ's sake!

"I can't believe I'm saying this . . . umm, God only knows what I'd be without you, Macca. Seriously, this band wouldn't even have been half as good without you and it shows. So you really can't leave now. You have too much ahead of you for that."

Finally his eyes fluttered open. I nearly cried in relief but settled with hugging him tightly. I could feel him tense up from shock, or pain. Either way, I could feel him moving and breathing, even if the breaths were shaky.

"What? I thought-" Paul tried to say but I was too happy and also furious for him to say another word.

"What the hell happened here? I honestly just had to pull you out of your own car!" I shouted with as much anger as I felt in the studio.

"I . . . I really don't remember, John," Paul whispered sadly. He winced and held his side tightly.

"What do you mean you don't remember? What happened when you were driving? Who slammed you into that pole?" I asked with my anger slowly leaving.

He sat up quickly to look at his mashed up Mini, trembling a bit as he continued to stare.

I pulled my hand out from under his back since he could sit up a little on his own. What I saw on it clearly wasn't there before.

Well. This disaster just keeps getting better.

Paul started trembling more and more so before he collapses, I pulled him into my lap, feeling the same sticky red liquid on my legs now.

"How did that happen?" He asked weakly. His eyes started to flutter a bit and I knew he lost a lot of blood then.

"Don't worry about that. I need you to stay awake right now," I calmly told him.

"Stop treating me you're talking to Mike."

"I wouldn't be treating you like your little brother if you didn't repeatedly try to close your eyes."

He heaved a sigh but even that caused him to wince. I needed to keep that off of his mind or else I'd probably lose him again. So I came up with the great idea that he should just talk to me. If he can do it in front of the press for so long, he can easily do the same for me. And while he'd talk, I'd see if I could come up with any bright ideas to get us out of this mess.

"Do you have any new ideas for the band, Macca?" I asked as I slowly shook his shoulder. His eyes were more alert than before, but they still looked dull.

"Yeah. I actually have this idea where we could be another band. Then we'd dress up to really play the part."

"What? So you want us to go around and dress up like, I don't know, Mick Jagger's band?"

"No, we'll be a band called Sgt Pepper."

"I still don't understand what you're talking about, Macca."

"We don't want to be known as those mop top kids anymore. Even Geo's sick of it. So I thought we should grow moustaches and be this serious looking band."

"I can't see you with a moustache, Macca. But I think I get it. So . . . it'll be something like an alter ego, where we could wear military clothes even."

Paul nodded and a faint smile came to his lips.

"I didn't think of the military thing but I like it. So we could do anything we want with Sgt Pepper."

"So we could write the dumbest song ever and say it's okay because we're writing as Sgt Pepper?"

He nodded again and the smile got bigger.

"I don't think any of it will be stupid."

I laughed and shook my head with a mock frown.

"Then I guess you don't me that well. I would definitely write a stupid song, just for the fun of it."

"No, you wouldn't. We've got to be serious in this album. But not too serious that we'd scare away fans," Paul rambled as he continued to think about his idea.

He sat there with a smile that showed that he was very pleased with his idea. We sat in a peaceful silence, thinking of what would happened if we went on with the idea. For a minute his eyes started drooping again but something caused them to pop back open.

"Hey, do you hear that?" Paul asked me as he tried to sit up again. I pushed him back onto my lap, straining my ears to hear whatever he thought he was hearing. What if he thought he was hearing something because of all the blood he lost? Maybe I could try to see if he could stand up so I could bring him-

"How can you not hear this?" he asked as he tried to sit up, again. Before I could make sure that Paul wouldn't hurt himself once again, a slight rumbling sound came to my ears.

Like a car.

Headlights suddenly flooded my vision and I had to cover mine and Paul's eyes until they went off. George was the first person out and he instantly took Paul from my hands and started to hug him, not at all worried about the blood that was on my hands. On his hands.

All over Paul.

"What happened?" Brian somehow managed to ask. "And why's your car in such a bad state, Paul?"

"I don't know," Paul whispered in a very shaky voice. "I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I. Don't. Know."

Paul looked up at me for the briefest of moments with genuine fear in his eyes and tears welling up. He tried blinking them away but it didn't work. It didn't stop me from seeing him look so utterly helpless.

"John . . . What did happen?"

I didn't say anything and got up, trying not to get the blood on my hands everywhere and with little success.

"I'm going to find someone to help, okay?"

No one honestly answered me, what with the situation and all. Darting off in the opposite direction of the guys, I called for help. The more I had to do that, the louder and more afraid I got.

"Hello? Who's calling?" A voice said, not too far off from me.

I ran in that direction immediately, finding the meter maid that had responded to my hysteric yells.

"I need help," I started shakily. "My friend's badly hurt and you need to get the ambulance here now."

She didn't question the fact that I was shaking, or that I had blood all over me and rushed over to the phone booth, dialing the police.

"Station? This is Rita . . . Can you find my location? . . . I've-"

Rita looked over at me, questioning me with her eyes: Do you want me to say John Lennon or just a random person?

"I've a male, in his twenties, that has seen a bad accident . . . The person involved is badly injured . . . Great, see you then."

She put the phone back on its place and stepped out of the booth, sighing to herself a little then looked up at me.

"They'll be here as quickly as they possibly can but I can't make promises. Sometimes things happen."

She didn't need to tell me that. My friend, my best friend even, was slowly bleeding out from a car crash and he's a great driver. Things happen was a flimsy statement to me right now. Hollow and not at all going to make me feel better.

"I need to follow you back to the scene. An official needs to be there at all times. Just in case," Rita murmured, as if she wasn't sure of herself. It felt like I should have sighed in irritation at that point, but I'm sure Paul would have said something about that.

Instead, I walked her back to Paul and the rest of the lads. Paul looked a bit paler than before, but his eyes were still open, no matter how much he looked like he wanted to shut them forever, he kept them open. That gave me enough hope.

"Did you get help?" George asked. He was still with Paul, but his jacket was off and wrapped tightly around Paul's stomach area. To apply pressure and all that doctor stuff.

"Yeah, this is Rita. She called for the police and all them to get here. They should be here soon," I answered, watching as Ringo kept patting Paul's hair and talking to him about random things like songs they'd recently heard on the radio.

Suddenly, Paul stops talking and closed his eyes for a moment. A small cough came from his mouth and Ringo stopped talking too. He slowly wiped something off the corner of Paul's mouth, hand shaking as he took it away.

"He's bleeding."

George looked close to fainting and he just about did, shaking for a moment before Rita tried to calm him down.

"Can't you help him?" Brian asked.

My head snapped to his direction. He was still there?

"They didn't teach me about this when I applied," Rita murmured. Her voice was shaky and George, underneath her watch, still looked rattled.

"So . . . You're unqualified to help him. That's what you're trying to tell me?"

Brian didn't sound like himself, shaking ever so slightly with anger. If she truly knew him, she would have moved back in fear like John did or at least tried like Ringo and George.

"I'm so sorry. I'll try the hardest I can-"

He waved her off, frowning until his face looked old with worry lines.

Paul's coughing subsided over time. Now, he looked paler than he did before, gaining Brian's attention again. Opening his mouth, I knew he was going to say something to try to sooth him, but sirens blared not too far away.

Finally. It felt like a lifetime that we had to wait, trying to stop Paul from getting too tired.

Rita melted into the background when the medics came out of the ambulance, only being brought back when they needed her to ask a few questions.

Paul was the main centre of attention, obviously. They gave him oxygen to breathe and checked his vitals as they tried to get him onto the stretcher.

Brian turned to the three of us, his worry lines still there. "One of you boys need to go with him."

George shook his head and took a step back.

"You'll be the one to go. He needs you right now, not us."

Brian looked down at his shoes and nodded slowly, taking in the seriousness of everything around us. It wasn't often that you could separate one Beatle from the other.

"Stay with each other," Brian sternly said. But it grew soft in a moment when he look at our faces and the state of our clothes. "Ringo, do you think you can drive to the hospital?" Ringo nodded stonily. "Okay, just follow the ambulance. Thank you for being strong, boys."

He stepped into the ambulance without another word. Not that there was anything else to say. 

Ringo was the first to move, pulling the keys to the car out of his back pocket and moving toward the one that they came out of. 

"C'mon lads, they won't be waiting for us too long." It sounded as if he was talking to me through water. I could feel my body going to the car, I could see George doing the same, but I couldn't feel it. 

George went to the passenger's seat, leaving me alone in the back. In a sort of trance, I looked at the blood all over me again, some getting on the leather seats and the rest slowly drying into my clothes. Without a doubt, this was the last time I would be wearing it.

"You alright, mate?"

I don't know who asked. Still, I nodded and we went on our way to the hospital.

The ride was quiet, with our minds filled to the brim with questions. Questions no one really wanted to ask or have answered.

Hopefully this was just a dream. A sick little dream made up by my sick little mind and I'll wake up and we'll go back to the studio and things will be okay again and-

"John, are you sure you're okay? We're at the hospital and you haven't moved."

I looked up slowly, finally reaching Ringo's eyes. They seemed more worried than I'd ever seen them and I couldn't answer, eyes or question.

But I got out of the car, getting more blood on its interior and a bit on the exterior too.

Ringo gave my a quick, worried glance but didn't give it another moment, probably filled to the brim with thoughts.

We walked in a hurried fashion, by the end just about sprinting to the doors. The lady behind the counter gave us only one glance before she told us all the news.

"He's being prepped for surgery at the moment. The surgeons will tell you everything as they go along. Don't worry, he's in the finest of hands."

George sucked in a shaky breath. He was closer to Paul in a deeper way than me and Ringo and already, I could feel my heart shattering. I can only imagine how he was.

"Just sit in the chairs by that sea painting," the lady said, pointing at said chairs. "They won't be long on informing you, they usually do try to be fast."

 

The doctors all stood in horror, every single one of them. The long beep from the monitor said everything that needed to be said and more.

"Turn that bloody thing off!" The head surgeon yelled. He threw off his bloodied gloves and ripped off his face mask.

The body sat still lay in the middle of them all, an image of peace on his face but absolute horror as one traveled downward.

"Time of death, 2:16," someone said into the silence.

How was he supposed to tell his daughter that he was in the room that Paul McCartney passed away in?


	2. Can You Fill This Silence?

The boys sat in the waiting room, staring blankly at the paintings on the walls.

Updates will be given every half hour. 

It's been almost an hour since the last one and no one dare even looked around them.

You'll be accommodated, you won't have to worry at all. 

George was practically crawling up a wall with anxiety and restlessness. Already he had ditched his jacket and shirt, which were both coated in dry blood. Now, if the nurses didn't come soon, the same would happen to his pants and he didn't have a spare.

Ringo tried to calm him down, but George already couldn't stand the sight of blood and here he was with his brother's all over him.

"Where?" George mumbled in a nonsensical way.

"Nowhere," Brian sighed. He joined them the second Paul went under and was currently the only one who could understand George. Ringo tried but failed and John was out of it to even give it a go.

"Why?"

"I'm sorry."

George sniffled and leant on the manager, going on with his sniffling but giving up on talking.

A nurse slowly walked into the room. It was just the four and another man in the room, but he was waiting for paperwork and she had none. Brian stood shakily. This could go either way.

"Mr Epstein," she started, but she already said it all. She couldn't look at him, was already slow with her words and her voice was cracking.

Brian slumped back into his seat and wouldn't hear another word of it. George left the room the second Brian sat down and Ringo had to go follow him.

John was the odd one out. He laughed quietly. A shoulder shaking sort of laugh that was silent but one nonetheless.

Brian looked over in a heartbroken sort of way.

Not him, especially not him. He wasn't sure which Beatle the news would affect the most, with George knowing him the most, John having the deepest connection and Ringo being sensitive. Now, it was just painful to see their ways of coping.

"John," Brian started, but it got louder and his shoulders only moved more as he continued. The nurse took that as her sign to leave and did so with a tear running down her cheek.

"It's okay to talk—"

John's laughing stopped abruptly, his body suddenly taking a statue-like stance.

Brian hoped the other two weren't like this.

"What is there to talk about?" John asked angrily. It was so menacing and under his breath it almost sounded like hissing, making Brian flinch at every sound. "My friend just died. He died and I wasn't there."

John sat for a moment, thinking about God knows what. In the next moment, he sprinted down the hall, toward the patient rooms.

The manager had no time to think. Before he lost John to the confusing layout of the hospital, he raced to find him.

It was almost a sick game as John screamed for Paul and every once in a while stopped short because he remembered. It would take him far too long before he remembered fully that Paul could never call back and his ragged breaths of realisation filled the hallway and Brian's head. 

John walked slowly to lean against a wall and slid lower and lower until he was sitting down, letting out all the emotions that he was trying to hold in. Brian inched forward to him, afraid the tears running down his face would grow into angry ones if he rubbed John the wrong way. 

"He's gone," John croaked out. His whole body shook violently with sobs and it didn't look like it would ever end. "My best friend. The only person to ever get me, gone. Why is the world so cruel, Eppy?"

Brian let the nickname slide and sat next to the younger, wrapping his arm around John's shoulder. Instead of running away from the contact, John leant further into it, resting his head on Brian's chest as he struggled to properly breathe whilst crying.

"I don't know, John. I'm . . . " And the Brian was lost for words. How was he supposed to comfort someone when he had no idea how to comfort himself?

A short pause lingered through the air as the manager tried to find the right words and John tried to catch his breath.

"It hurts," John mumbled into the air. "Everything hurts."

Brian didn't know to fix that. John wasn't the one that had asthma problems, that was Paul and Ringo just had medical problems in general. But it didn't sound like a physical problem as John clenched his chest, right above his heart.

"Let's try to find Paul's surgery room, okay?"

John was all for this, getting up with a bit of help from Brian and leading the way himself. Even though he hardly knew the way. But then again, neither did Brian. 

Nurses seemed to be attracted to them, constantly hovering and politely asking if they knew where they were going. John, with a hard set jaw, said nothing. He was finally getting control of his breathing, they weren't going to screw it up. He already couldn't stand their sympathetic looks. If they asked him anything at this point with those sad eyes, he was very close to losing it. 

Finally, they got to the surgical wing. There was more light in this wing than the others they went through and a bit cleaner as well. John stopped dead at the line separating the wing from the rest of the hospital, almost unsure of what to do.

"Are you ready to go, John?" Brian asked. John's teeth were still clenched in what looked like a painful sort of way, but still did nothing but nod. 

They both stepped over the line, officially starting the search for Paul.

Well, Paul's body.

Brian now took the lead, looking for open Operating Rooms or ones that looked like the surgery was done with.

The first door they went to swung open with little difficulty as Brian pushed it. It proved to be empty, getting a sigh of relief from the manager.

He looked around aimlessly, not really wanting to see any other rooms that may have what they're looking for.

"We'll need to hurry," John said, cutting through his thoughts. "Won't they be taking him out of there soon?"

Brian quickly nodded at this. He'd seen them do this very quickly on some TV shows he paid a bit of attention to. Never thought it'd come of any use to know this kind of information.

He went to another one, with this one full and in use.

"Sir, what are you doing in this part of the hospital? You should be in the waiting room--"

Brian shut the door behind him as he left, suddenly more determined than ever after hearing those words to find Paul. No more waiting rooms. No more hospitals. No more. Not after this.

Even farther down the hall, he believed he found the room.

"Why do you think that, Brian?" John asked in a shaky voice. He looked around and sounded close to crying. Brian wasn't sure if find Paul would set him off or not finding him would.

Still, he pushed the door.

And nothing could have prepared him for it.

They still haven't covered his body, so he was on the table, his insides now just as easy to see as the rest of him. 

Something inside of him just broke to see the person he thought of as a son--or, at least one of them--lifeless and broken.

The room was eerily silent but stopped being so when John walked over to Paul's body, shaking ever so slightly as he did so.

"Paul," John attempted. But his voice broke and he settled with staying silent. He started to look around and walked over to a corner of a room, picking up a thin blanket that was on the table there.

"Just sleep, Paulie," John murmured. "I'll try to fix everything. I'll . . . even make the Sgt Pepper thing. Just . . . don't be so worried about us down here. We'll be fine . . ."

He didn't finish off what he might have said and went over covering Paul with the blanket as if to end it there. He ruffled Paul's hair one last time and looked away.

"Can we go now?" the guitarist suddenly said, looking around at anything but his now lost friend. Brian nodded and opened the door to leave. He couldn't go over to Paul, even though he knew he might regret it. He just didn't have the strength or courage to do something like that.

Leaving the room and getting to the waiting room was much faster than the other way around, mostly because the nurses suddenly reminded themselves that the two weren't even allowed to be in that area of the hospital. A little too late, but better late than never.

George and Ringo seemed to be waiting there for the two of them and pretty anxious to leave too. When George looked up to see them, he didn't say a word and quickly walked out of the hospital altogether and most likely to the car they came in. 

"He's . . . umm, he still can't believe it," Ringo said, as an attempt to explain George's actions. "Well, I can't believe it either. Can we just leave now?" 

A silent agreement went about with the three of them, though Brian snapped his fingers in frustration as he quickly turned to the front desk. 

"I need to talk to them about everything. We can't have them talking about it to the press or have a single thing come out. It'd be too much, I think."

There wasn't much attempt to think about this fully and the two only nodded at his words, now shutting down due to the day's events.

They started on their way to the car and George without a single word between them. It was just a time to be caught up in thoughts and words that were never said but desperately wished to be said before. Now, they could never be.

The two found George leaning on the car, frowning ever so slightly.

"You have the keys," he informed Ringo and John. He was just above a whisper at this point.

"Yeah, I forgot about that. Sorry, buddy," Ringo sighed, pulling out the keys to the car from his pocket once again. "Bri said we can go now. Think we're going to have to worry about this more tomorrow, so you two can start to sleep in the car. I'll wake you."

George looked like he wanted to argue on this idea, but he stopped himself and waited for Ringo to open the car.

The radio turned on all by itself once the car started, startling the three of them as the voice filled the car. The voice being Paul's.

George let out a shaky sob, trying to stop himself from losing it all over again.

"I miss him. He's supposed to be here right now to make us feel better," George whimpered. He looked out the window, as if hoping Paul would be there, walking the streets they were passing by so that they could pick him up, take him home, gave a good laugh about how they thought he was dead when he really wasn't. But there was no such moment.

"I miss him too," Ringo added, but he sounded like he was going somewhere with it. "But we have to be there for each other, so we won't drown ourselves in sadness. Paul wouldn't want that, don't you think?"

"Yeah," George replied, it still audible that he was trying not to cry. "It's just empty without him. We can't be the Beatles without him. We can't be . . . us, without the four of us. It's like saying that someone's a twin, but with one sibling."

John frowned at that. It sounded a bit similar to the arguments he made when people tried to get him out of his own rut when his mom died. He didn't want George to go down that spiral like he did.

"You can't be like that, Geo. They say that when a person dies, they kinda haunt you. But in a good way. They're not ever gone, they're kinda right beside you, influencing everything you do. He'll never leave. Paul's too much of a bugger to leave."

Ringo snorted at that, still, he nodded as if he quietly agreed with the ideas John had.

And with that, John closed his eyes to get a quick rest. He'd been through this kind of hurt before and be knew t this was only the beginning.

He just needed a bit of strength to help the people around him through it.


End file.
